


Ways and Means

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney stays unusually quiet, fingers warm and solid as they trace over his cheekbones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ways and Means

John will do a lot of things to get his way. He'll flirt. He'll look cute and charming, the closest he ever comes to verbally begging, normally. In a few, specific cases he _has_ actually begged. He'll wheedle. Sometimes, often in the same kinds of situation he finds himself begging in, he'll resort to the darker, dirtier methods of manipulation; blackmail's such a dirty word, but if he believes in it, he'll do it. Machiavelli's got nothing on John Sheppard.

But there are a few lines not even _he's_ ever crossed before. At least, he didn't before Rodney McKay. Rodney thinks rules and lines and limits are for lesser creatures -- unless Rodney himself sets them, anyway -- and if John's going to keep up with him, then John better get his head in the same game.

Which is how John finds himself with tears streaming down his face, chin wet with something he doesn't dare put a name to, his throat swollen and scratchy while his hands stay hot and greedy and frantic as they move.

Above him, Rodney's wide-eyed and flushed. "Oh my god," he says again. That's the forth time John's heard, but there was a bad moment when the roaring in his ears made him deaf so the count could've been higher. "Oh, Jesus. _Jesus."_

John wants to think he's being compared to a deity. That'd be a sop to his badly bruised -- scratchy, sore, _aching_ , god, oh god -- ego. Instead, he's pretty sure Rodney's calling out for a different reason, one that pummels his ego just a little bit harder.

John Sheppard doesn't like being bad at things. Not unless it's the kind of bad that's usually coupled with wide, admiring eyes.

He tries again, mouth as wet as his own discomfort can manage as he kisses the puffy head and tries to get his breathing under control before taking Rodney back inside and sucking clumsily.

"Oh, god," Rodney says again, hips trembling under John's fingers, his skin rain forest hot as he forces himself not to thrust.

Finally, finally the tenor of Rodney's exaltations reaches John. He stops, pulling off Rodney's cock with a wet pop and pressing his face into Rodney's hip and thigh. This, he likes. Rodney is solid and secure, powerful the way none of the tiny, fragile women he's had ever have been, something John didn't know he wanted until it's suddenly in his lap, overwhelming. He smells _good_ , even with the sourness of sweat laced through the musky sex and the clean, ozone tang John likes better than any of the damned cologne Rodney likes trying. Rodney is... Rodney is oddly fractured strength and oddly vulnerable competence and John can't get enough of it.

He kisses skin that's delicate from being so often bent, nipping lightly, nose pressed hard against Rodney's hip-bone. He's doing this for a reason, he reminds himself. A very good, very important reason. It's worth it. He swallows, hating the lump he can't seem to fight down, like the first frustrating signs of a cold. He swallows again.

"Hey." Rodney's hands are huge as they cup John's face. He's pulled free, into the light and Rodney's gaze -- suddenly perceptive where he's never, ever, _ever_ been before, something John can't figure out if he likes or not. "John."

"Will you just come?" he bites out Then coughs; Jesus, is that his _voice_?

Rodney stays unusually quiet, fingers warm and solid as they trace over his cheekbones. "That's what this is about? Well. Huh. If I'd know _that_ was what it took to get you over your blow-job hangup I would've started refusing earlier."

He -- what?

Stunned and humiliated and almost impossibly turned on by the bright look in Rodney's eyes, John swallows again. Kisses skin that's red and velvet on his tongue -- bitter, yes, a little sour, but not awful. This time when he slides down he goes slowly, not trying to take all of it. He still chokes, though. Frustration makes him want to grind his teeth, but the sheer reflected terror of feeling that _himself_ stops him --

Until he pays attention to Rodney again. Rodney, who's glazed and distracted, choking back sounds. Rodney, who's eye is twitching the way it always does when he's close.

John pulls off again, and coughs. Pointedly.

"Oh, god, just -- yes, fine, it's the worst kink ever to like someone to be _bad_ at something, but -- "

But he's _trying,_ John gets as he swoops back down. Rodney's shivering enjoyment untwists something in John's mind and this time it's easier. He doesn't fight the frantic, painful clench of his throat, riding through it while Rodney pants and tries hard not to thrust into him.

"Do you know how _hot_ you look?" Rodney says. His voice is gasping and high and suddenly John's barely-interested cock is very, very interested. "John Sheppard on his knees, sucking his first cock. Sucking _my_ cock."

Nobody says 'cock' like Rodney. Ever.

"And it hurts, doesn't it? You don't know what you're doing and oh, oh, god, teeth good yes, _good_ \-- you don't _care_. Because you want it and I want and it's _messy_. Jesus, John, you're -- "

The idea that he never gets dirty is one John doesn't understand. He knows it's got nothing to do with mud smeared on his skin or any other kind not-clean state he's been in. He knows it's a sexual thing, like when when he gets red-faced and gasping when he's pounding into Rodney's body, or the way he'll _whimper_ \-- a previously unheard of Sheppardian noise -- when they're jerking each other off. Anything like that has Rodney spiraling out of 'interested in sex' to 'absolutely desperate for it right that instant'.

He doesn't understand it. But he sure as hell _likes_ it. Especially when Rodney looks at him like that. His shoulders are grabbed, a little rougher than he'd like, but that's good too because he's choking again and oh, _oh_ , Rodney's fucking his damned face and --

John comes first, unexpectedly and hard. He has to work desperately not to bite down on the dick in his mouth, but Rodney doesn't seem to care. Rodney doesn't seem to _notice_ , hyperventilating as he watches John's body shudder and shiver, riding out the low, aching moan that John always makes when he comes.

"Holy shit," Rodney says, and then he's coming in wet, salty spurts in John's mouth. It's just as unexpected -- to John, at least -- and he chokes _again_ (he grumpily makes plans to get rid of his fucking gag-reflex as soon as possible) spilling down his chin and chest. It's humiliating, really, but Rodney just makes a sound that's close to sobbing as another spurt is somehow timed perfectly and it slides right over John's tongue and down his throat.

Not bad. Not great, no. It's not a taste or texture he thinks he'll ever seek out for its own enjoyment. But if it means Rodney looks like this, and sounds like that, and _falls backwards on his ass_ the way he is -- well. It's not bad at all.

Remembering why he started this in the first place, John pulls himself up Rodney's prone, heaving body and begins licking him clean. He's had girlfriends do this, and hell, Rodney seems to enjoy it, not that he makes much mess to begin with. But John finds it strangely... nice. It feels good to run his tongue over the warm, soft skin between Rodney's thighs, over his sac and up his cock again, swirling around the head, with no intention of wanting anything more. Just finding every trace he can and licking it away.

"Oh, my god," Rodney says. The count's destroyed by now, but there's a note of finality -- and annoyance -- that says there won't be more after. "You really want me to go, don't you?"

John doesn't trust himself to speak, just nods his head against Rodney's stomach. He can hear the frantic beat of Rodney's heart. It's slowing, some, pulsing through John's body until his catches the same rhythm. It's good.

"Okay." Rodney slides his fingers through John's hair, over the high curve of his forehead before fingering the length of his jaw. It tickles and it's a little uncomfortable, but not enough that it needs to stop. "But I want another one afterward, too."

The hell? His jaw and throat _hurt_ , and he doesn't imagine it's going to get that much better in the next few hours. He doesn't bother glaring, though. He's too satisfied with Rodney's acquiescence -- and yes, maybe his very first blow-job -- to bother.

He doesn't need to; Rodney's smug expression is audible: "I want you _hoarse_ , John," he says. He sounds a little hoarse himself, actually, and suddenly John understands every woman who's told him she likes blow-jobs, even though he's always secretly never thought well of them because of it.

Now he gets it. _He_ did that, made Rodney shatter under his tongue until he's broken and dazed-sounding. And long after pomp, circumstance, and very bad booze -- he's gonna do it again. After all, John Sheppard knows how to get things his way.


End file.
